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Love Hurts

If I talked to you would you talk back me? Or would you screw up your face and simply walk away. How many times have I tried but choked coming within a few feet of you? It doesn't matter that you don't notice me; only occasionally catching my eye as my attempts to engage you fail time and time again; but of course you never wonder who I am either, or recall my face from yet another failed attempt. I once considered writing you a letter or two but then recoiled at the thought as I persuaded myself that a letter these days would probably get me arrested as a stalker. Maybe a gift would be better than a letter then; a gift would show admiration after all yet I imagine that you'd simply be content for a while guessing which friend of yours had kindly made the gesture as you'd done previously before. No, that wouldn't do either. What if I maybe wrote you a song and played it for you at some place that you'd have no choice but to listen; like a club or one of your hang outs like the Coffee Cove or the Marina Bar maybe. Then again I guess you'd probably not be listening to the music anyway being such a socialite and such and if you did happen to listen to the words and watched me sing those words for you you'd have no reason to believe I was singing them for you and probably laugh at the rough looking fellow in the corner strumming on his guitar. Maybe the words would take you back to a summer romance or into the arms of a lover who once shared your bed with, that wouldn't do at all, besides, you've walked past me on the street before whilst I played my songs for you on your journey to work but not once did you stop to stare. I never could play that well anyway. Who'd ever have imagined that one man filled so full of compassion for one woman and whose passion constantly erodes away at his heart until it all spills out onto paper cannot bring himself to say I love you so dearly'? The irony of it all frustrates me so. Weeks pass by so quickly in your presence and all the time I spend with you brings me more and more in love with you. The flowers that I bought for you are littered about my flat now, in vases and pots and whatever else I could find to hold them in. They wither as the days pass by and the chocolates keep melting but I have to apologise as I couldn't help to eat quite a few of them. I wish you'd have got at least one bunch of them but of course that's out of the question. Today as you sat at the Marina I watched as you took your make up from your

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